![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- *hatch log,
- *mission log,
- annie westwind [original],
- asuka langley sohryu [evangelion],
- bellamy blake [the 100],
- clarke griffin [the 100],
- elena gilbert [the vampire diaries],
- elliot alderson [mr robot],
- gildor helyanwe [original],
- lexa [the 100],
- misato katsuragi [evangelion],
- noctis lucis caelum [ffxv],
- pidge gunderson (katie holt) [voltron],
- richard gecko [from dusk till dawn],
- rust cohle [true detective],
- ryohji kaji [evangelion],
- sam wilson [mcu],
- seth gecko [from dusk till dawn]
[mission: hyrypia] i am not there; i do not sleep
CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :019 - DAY :020
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; down on the planet Hyrypia, a Host is laid to rest.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, funerary services. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!
((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch, the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia, the funeral of Lavellan and the supremely awkward dinner party meant to wrap the first stage of the Pilgrimage. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information if you're brand new to the game. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :019 - DAY :020
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; down on the planet Hyrypia, a Host is laid to rest.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, funerary services. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!
STATION 72
DAY :019
NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and the universe with you in it is suddenly different. --No. That's not right. You're you, the universe is as it's always been, and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or coming up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and yet everything is.
Here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small, faintly hexagonal chamber with a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.
But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a nearby closed door.
You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone. There are a handful of you here, somehow intimately familiar to each other.
Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room it's quiet and still, feeling for all the world like a shell for some vast dark thing.
Eventually, a sensation manifests out of the black. It says:PREPARE YOURSELF
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD is sound and sensation: a warm shaft of sunlight through smoky glass - a gauzy curtain twitching in some summer breeze. It says or feels like:( Come meet with me, won't you? )
Where exactly this meeting is supposed to occur isn't immediately clear, but head in the direction that seems correct and eventually Station 72 gets you where you're meant to be: a circular briefing room with tiered seating, empty now, before a woman with a sheet of graying hair and something focused in her expression. It's been some time since she's spoken with a young host - since she's done one of this briefings. Apparently she's feeling something like her usual self. She smiles and it's very warm.
"Welcome to Station 72. Unfortunately, you won't be here long but we'd like to answer as many of your questions as we're able before you leave this place."[ooc note: please see here for the catch-all briefing thread] THE STATION
WITH A LITTLE UNDER 24 HOURS before it's time to make the trip to Hyrypia, this is as good an opportunity as you're going to get to familiarize yourself with Station 72 before you leave it. There's plenty to see, but a distinct lack of people to make conversation with. It's lonely and quiet and there's a sensation of dust gathering even where there is none. Maybe studying the briefing files on your databank is the most proactive distraction, but if not? Well there's plenty of places to get lost...
In the simulated morning, a strange archaic ship has arrived on the Hangar. Its very alien pilots unload two heavy trunks, then dole out a series of kits to the new hosts. One of them - the pale female alien who her calls herself Rhan - cheerfully announces, "Get changes and buckle in. I'm afraid we've some grim business ahead of us today. Funerals, you know. But chin up, my darlings. One uncomfortable day and then we'll leave the matter behind us. --Oh, but do be gentle with the others. I suspect they might be tender for a few days yet."
You leave the Station. If you're lucky, you might one day make it back.
HYRYPIA - THE GRAZE
DAY :020
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION
A SHIP DESCENDS from the iron colored sky early in the morning on Day :020. Before it even pierces the planet's atmosphere, its cargo should be obvious to the other Carbauschians: a new batch of Hosts, freshly hatched and just in time for the grim festivities.
The idea is simple: that they are part of a mourning delegation, only here to briefly oversee Lavellan's funerary rites. Luckily (...) there's plenty of comatose Hosts lying in the tents to trade places with the newcomers.
Better get to know your new friends quickly - there's plenty to be brought up to speed on (such as, uh, the recent death of one of the elder Hosts), and likely enough work to be done that the new spare hands are welcome. Or maybe the state of nothing-like-faux mourning is a good excuse for some alone time on a strange new alien planet. You're all so very, very far from home.BURIAL RITES
THE FUNERAL has been arranged to the Hosts' precise specifications. Each and every single request they've made has been met, carried out by two soft-spoken, contrite Hyrypian servants who had come to them not long after their return from the hunt. Perhaps because the members of the other envoys are unsure whether it's permitted or welcome to attend, the site of the funerary pyre is hardly full to bursting with onlookers. Or maybe the burning of corpses goes against some obscure tradition. Or maybe some of the minor envoys simply don't care much and think the Carbasuchians are best left to their grief alone. Still, while it's hardly the entire encampment in attendance a notable selection of diplomats and their respective entourages and several of their Hyrypian hosts have turned out for the ceremony. It seems the Descendants in particular have turned out in some force, including the very hunter saved by Lavellan's quick thinking.
When the time comes for the rites to proceed, it's left to the Hosts to light the fire and say their farewells to their fallen comrade - the first and hopefully last to be lost in this strange land.A SOMBER CELEBRATION
ASH SCENT HANGS HEAVY STILL over the encampment. Or maybe that's simply the perception - after all, the breeze still blows in from over the Great Flat. Surely it's just a memory of the smell which lingers, as circumstantial as the mournful note the wind sighs as it cuts across the Graze and into the tangled Finger Maze.
However, matters of the universe don't pause for the tragedy of the loss of an envoy - and there is so much riding on this Pilgrimage. To their credit, the Hyrypians have done all they can to provide for the Carbauschians in their time of grief (including a visit from the Matron Bassita herself, pale and full of sympathy and apologies), and as evening falls what clearly was meant to be a carousing party to celebrate a successful hunt and completion of the Pilgrimage's first stage has been considerably tempered.
The drinks still flow; the food is still plentiful, rich and lavishly spiced - but the music being played is soft and careful and of the hundreds of small technomanced insect lights the drift over the encampment tonight, a considerably portion of them are dedicated to lingering around the charred skeleton of the funeral pyre as a sober acknowledgement of what has come to pass.
Give it a few hours and maybe the mood will lighten slightly. On the other hand, there's nothing like an uncomfortably close tragedy to bring people together - and as Rhan suggests, maybe now's exactly the right time to ask a few pointed questions. Or to get hammered with new friends. Or to take a nice long walk while everyone else is consumed by the muted festivities.
((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch, the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia, the funeral of Lavellan and the supremely awkward dinner party meant to wrap the first stage of the Pilgrimage. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information if you're brand new to the game. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
no subject
It doesn't matter. She lets his arm go, and lets her shoulder droop, lets her anxiety simmer down. ]
You've been quiet. I worry, you know.
no subject
[A trembling sensation along their mental link; Kavinsky's shying away from closeness, even from his favorite broodmate. The sorrow in the air tastes like cigarette ash coating the top and bottom of his tongue. He can't swish it out with all the hidden-flask-gin in the world (and he's capable of making more than the world would naturally sustain).
Her concern's more of the same, just flavored slightly differently. Used up chewing tobacco, wet, sticky, gummed up with someone else's saliva.]
Well, you just let me know when I can be loud again, Misa.
[This mission has been like handcuffs. Like a stiff posture collar around Kavinsky's core personality.
Does she remember her cell exploding at Waypoint? Does she remember how great he'd looked holding a gun? (He bets he looked fantastic).
Maybe he should've looked into the hunt, but that doesn't exactly lend itself to K's needs, either.
Too official. Too much expectation.]
no subject
[ Meant literally. The robes feel suffocating, the hiding and the disguises and the playacting are suffocating, and this-- all this needing to keep herself and her mind contained lest it trouble another, lest it reveal too many of her cards, this too is like a pair of hands on her throat. Too gentle to harm, too persistent for comfort.
She allows just the briefest spark of anger to light up, flint struck together in the night, the afterimage stuck to one's retina. ]
Are you sad? Tell me if you are. It's better than pretending. It's not like I wouldn't know eventually.
no subject
It's an exercise in control.]
Yeah. I'm real sad. Weeping.
[His voice is clean, his inflection immaculate. But Misato was right; she's within him. She knows there's a thread of truth within the tapestry.]
no subject
His death was useful. It earned us credibility in the eyes of the Rabadoceans, and we used his body to see what the symbiote looked like.
[ A pause to give him an out, an inhale as she presses a palm against the barrier of his mind to gauge his temperature. ]
Do you want to know?
no subject
He would hate her if he didn't love her. But love, for someone like Kavinsky, has too many fangs for comfort. No matter how he tries to settle within its maw, something wicked is always digging in.]
That what you thought of first when you saw he was dead? How do I use this? That's sick shit. You need therapy.
[He swallows.
Kavinsky's first thoughts when looking at a dead body have always boiled down to what do I do now? Because he was alone and there was always so much blood.
What would Misato do if she found his corpse? How would she use it?
He doesn't answer the last question, but there's a ripple inside him that spreads out, touches Misato, passes through her. Interest, albeit as fickle as the rest of the youth.]
no subject
It wasn't me.
[ A statement of fact. ]
The thing-- the symbiote lives right here [ Here she touches the back of her head over her hood, the groove at which her skull connects to her neck, then reaches over to touch the corresponding spot on him. See. ] It's a white thing, with little threads that go into the folds of your brain. It grows into them. Do you want to see?
[ Do you want to see this parasite that loves her and fools you into thinking it is you who does? ]
no subject
[He's not one to hesitate. But he hesitates. Everything's been so clear to him most his life. The path he would follow. Never the Right path, but the Joe K path, the one he'd carved out in a brutal world because it was his.
His hands ball into fists at his sides. And he thinks of Ronan Lynch, wonders if this was how he felt when he came to Kavinsky's Substance Party and decked him over a fake ID.
Fortunately, he isn't Ronan Lynch, and his hands abandon their ball shape so that his fingers stretch out, toward the earth, toward his feet. Soles. Then they go soft so he can card one through his hair.
More apathy, like another layer on the same shit cake as ever.]
You wanna start a fight with me, sweetie? You wanna come find me, pretend it's us again, but what you want is a mental hatefuck? How many times are we gonna play this game until you're done losing?
no subject
It's not a game.
[ It is. No matter how firmly she balls her fists, solidifies her voice, makes herself sound unerringly sure. ]
I'm telling you cause you should know. What else are you gonna do? Smoke your life away? Hope that whatever you're sniffing poisons the symbiote faster than it poisons you?
no subject
[Kavinsky's never still. His hands are always moving, his feet tap the earth, his tongue moves behind his teeth when it isn't busy assisting in speech. Misato amps him, brings that energy to a zenith. Will it make her happy if he tears out the symbiote with his bare hands?
Will his brainbug let him?]
I came here so I could help save the world.
[Because he was going to kill himself before he was presented with an option that promised 50% less burnt flesh smell. Whether or not that's turned out to be true is debatable.]
I woke up with some forty year old grandpa I could read the mind of and I kind of got that we were all fucked at that point. What's changed? Now we know the motherfucker's ugly?
no subject
[ The implication, no the question, contained therein: and you should want the same for you are part of me. You must want the same. Her insistence feels like gravity, a physical imperative.
She steps closer, but turns her gaze away toward the crowd. Her voice is an attempt at softness like a disguise. ]
You can read my mind too.
no subject
[Which means he can tell when she's drifting from him, or when she never docked that closely to begin with. He knows enough about where the cigarettes he got her went. Knows the name of the guy, even, and it's other people's patience infecting him--that's the only thing keeping him from doing something about it.
There's a hardness in Kavinsky's eyes, but he keeps his tone smooth, like syrup dripping down. Making a mess.]
You'd like yourself better if you said what it is you really want.